


Shadows in the City

by Lanzo



Category: Sneaky Pete (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14072100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanzo/pseuds/Lanzo
Summary: Before Luka Delchev there was Vince Lonigan, and before Vince Lonigan life wasn't exactly easier.





	1. A Bird in the Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic before and uhhhh yeah. Attempt made.

Marius didn't know his name. It was bound to be something European to match the pale complexion and the thinning fair hair, something boring to match the gray of the suit, something unimaginative to match the dull but no-doubt-expensive briefcase swinging at his knee. 

The way the guy's pressed pants hitched up at the back of his legs with every stride and pulled around the calves suggested he was a runner. Not a jogger. This asshole only went outside to slink into the Starbucks opposite the office for his two and three eighths pumps of caramel into his shitty flat white. He ran on a treadmill in his apartment, was the kind of guy who snapped at his girlfriend for cooing too loud at the French bulldog all dressed up in pink hooked over her squeezing arms, yelled she turn Maury down when he couldn’t hear the all-important _thud thud_ of his shining sneakers on the belt. The guy was a dick and Marius had only seen the subtle half of his hundred-dollar haircut. 

The dick took the corner. Scaffolding shadowed the sidewalk so Marius picked up the pace. He flexed the fingers on his right hand, stretched each one out and brought them into the palm like the slow close of a fan. 

Marius reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed the weapon of choice. He sidestepped into the shadier side beneath the scaffold canopy, kept close to the store fronts, eyes on the hundred-dollar haircut. 

The weapon was mayonnaise, white as the wrist under the dick's wannabe Rolex when he shrugged up his sleeve to check the time. He had loaded it into an empty hair gel tube and removed the cap so there wouldn't be a noisy click from the lid snapping open or shut. For a little extra effect, he'd swirled in some green and black food coloring and a few sizeable lumps of dirt to make it less like mayo and more like bird shit. 

The street was quieter. Traffic grumbled past, a Volvo rattled, voices couldn't quite make it through the huff of the breeze, a siren cried a few blocks down. 

Marius moved. The heels of his old boots were silent from wear and the dick never heard him. In a second the old hair gel tube spun into his hand then returned to his pocket (upright, of course, like shit he'd let that fake shit leak), leaving behind a long, white stain on the dick's shoulder. Looking at his work now with head tilted, Marius realized he should have used a little more green, but it was unlikely the dick was an ornithologist, or at least not the kind interested in the sort of bird with feathers. 

He backed away and gave it ten seconds. This time when he approached the dick his footfalls were loud. "Hey, excuse me!" he said, hand raised, feigning breathlessness, as if he'd raced to catch up to this poor unknowing fool out of the goodness of his heart. 

The dick gave him a glance and tilted his body away. "What? I'm sorry, I don't have time to talk to you, I'm on the way to the office, all right?" 

"No, no, no. I just wanted to tell you that, uh, a bird got you when you walked under that scaffold. It's all down your back, man." 

"Bullshit." 

"No, bird shit," said Marius. With a hiss and a wince he gave the dick's shoulder a quick look, bobbed his head as if assessing the damage. He even lowered his voice and leaned in to protect the sad bastard's pride. "Look, I just wanted to tell you before you, y'know, go to work and everyone sees it before you do. Happened to me once, every asshole in the room laughed. Talk of the water cooler for weeks, know what I'm saying? It dried on my collar and my hair and I just walked right on in there without even knowing. My best suit jacket." Marius rounded off the story with a defeated and exaggerated shrug. 

The dick slowed his walk and then stopped. The briefcase bounced on his thigh as he stared, then, right on cue, he started pulling on his lapel, tried in vain to yank the material forward to check. 

Marius swept in to rescue and relieve him. He grabbed the jacket, pulled it forward and at the same time pulled the other side of it out and around so he could snake a hand into the inner pocket and take the wallet. It went straight into his belt. "You see it?" 

The dick pushed his arm away, stepped back, put down the briefcase and took the jacket off. He peered at the bird shit. Marius blinked, willed him to not move too close in case he discovered the delightfully unsubtle eggy scent of the mayonnaise. 

"Shit," said the dick. 

"Yeah, literally, right there. I'd get that wiped off fast or it's gonna set like concrete. Sorry to run up at you like that but I just saw the little shit do it and thought I better tell you. There's-there's a cleaners on Fifth somewhere if you wanna really get rid of it. Shit sticks, I can tell you." 

"Fuck! God damnit. Okay. Shit, I gotta get to the office. I'll do that cleaners thing at lunch. Thanks, man," said the dick, turning to and fro on the spot, then shaking the jacket at Marius. 

Marius put up his hands. He stooped to appear humble, understanding. "Sure, no problem. Good luck with that." 

The dick trotted off with the jacket lying limp over the briefcase, discarded now it had been soiled, and Marius turned the other way, small mouth bunched to one side in a smirk. 

His cell buzzed as he walked. He answered the call but pinned it between his shoulder and jaw, both hands too busy rifing through the dick's wallet. "Eddie," he said, "what's going on? You find anything?" 

"No. Not yet," was the meek reply. 

Marius rolled his eyes and flashed a quick look at the crosswalk when he reached its edge. The raking voice of Stevie Nicks drifted through the doors of a bar. The _don't walk_ lights on the crossing sign glowed red. Marius walked. "Eddie, Eddie, you're supposed to be looking. What're you doing calling me? Don't call until you get something, c'mon," he said, switching the phone to his other ear. 

"The Irish wanna see you," said Eddie. He sounded hushed, his voice an urgent, speedy whine through his teeth. 

Marius stopped next to a café and frowned, the wallet going to one hand as the other went to hold the phone properly. "Oh, they wanna see me? What, all of 'em?" 

"Some of 'em. That foreign food place near the flea market, you know, we went by there that one time before-" 

"I know where it is," said Marius, closing his eyes and rubbing one of them behind its lid with a spare finger, head craned back. "Is that where you are?" 

"Nah, they don't wanna talk to me. They want you. Told me to send you." 

Marius breathed and balanced the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip as if the right word had escaped and it was chasing after it. "Do they know?" 

"I don't think so. Marius, you gotta go. If you don't they're only gonna come find you and make you go. Don't piss 'em off. I don't think they're mad they just wanna meet." 

Marius could hear Eddie had the phone really pressed to his face. There was a muffled scrape over the phone's receiver each time he spoke into it, the scratch of his stubble against the plastic. 

He made sure Eddie heard his long sigh. The noise made the line crackle like a hurricane. "Okay. Okay. I'll see you where we planned. Or back at the hotel. Keep your phone on." Marius killed the call and gripped the phone in his hand until it creaked. He looked down and found he was still holding the wallet. The phone went back into his jeans and he fished through the leather pockets again. The dick was old fashioned, a cash man, no guesses as to who ended up with half of it late at night, perched on the edge of some spongey bed snapping a bra back on. 

Marius folded the notes and tucked them away. The cards he'd flicked through before were useless, but there was the driver's license. He held it up between two fingers and read the name. 

Michael Malloy. 

European. Boring. Unimaginative. Dick. 

Marius snapped the wallet shut. He'd ditch it later, wipe it down, toss it in the trash downtown. It'd get back to the dick eventually. For now he had the bad luck of the Irish to deal with.


	2. The Foreign Food Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Irish. They like plans to be simple.

"Does it stand for anything?" 

Marius blinked and raised his eyebrows at Al Goodland. "What?" he asked. 

"The J in your name. J. White. Does it stand for something? Is it like J-A-Y or is it like the letter?" said Al, speaking through a cig before he lit it and whipped it from his mouth as if the whole thing had ignited. 

"I'm sorry, you wanted to see me?" said Marius, stepping forward, showing an open palm, ready to be handed the reason for the summons. 

Al Goodland wasn't Irish. None of the dozen men standing around in the tiled loading bay of the foreign food place were. Maybe they had been once, way down the line, some ancestral tinge of the emerald in their blood giving them something to fiercely cling to as if patriotism still mattered, but all of them were from Dublin by way of several generations languishing in Manhattan. 

The room was cold and the lighting was harsh. It gave everything a cyan wash that hurt the eyes. One of the strip lights on the ceiling was flickering. Marius glanced up and saw the little black dots of dead bugs inside the plastic case. There was a chemical smell in the air heavy enough to push around. 

"Do you wanna sit down?" Said Al, indicating a metal seat one of his men was reserving with his boot. 

"No, I'm good," said Marius, smile small, right foot twisting on the spot just in case he needed a head start running. 

Al stepped forward, smoke rising from his nostrils, pale eyes glinting under his brows. He stopped and then hummed a low laugh. "You always look like that?" He said. 

"Pardon me?" Marius frowned and narrowed his eyes. 

"Scared. Or worried. Maybe it's just your face. Relax, I just wanna talk. What's the business term for it? Project progress update?" Al laughed again, jammed the cigarette between his teeth and grinned, his hands out. "How's it all going?" 

Marius widened his eyes and forced his smile to turn up a little higher. "Forward. You hired me to do a job, and I'm doing it." 

"Don't get shitty with me, Mr. White. I hired you to do a job, sure, you looked like the best when I did my research, but that was a week and a half ago. I ain't seeing anything moving right now. Are you getting it done or are you fucking around?" 

"I'm getting it done." 

Al leaned back on one leg and turned his cigarette around in his fingers, flicking ash. He watched it as it spun. "I ask because, well, you're a professional thief for hire, as am I, and I brought you on board because I needed the numbers, but where's the service I paid for? We're still where we were two weeks ago. What's keeping you?" 

"It takes five days to plan a job properly, okay? That's five days to collect info, get the names of who's on duty, the hours they all work, the patterns they follow, the access they all have around the building, how many cameras, how much security on the doors, what type of security that is, exits, entrances, number of floors, number of doors, the roads nearby, which vehicles can fit down them, length of time it takes for a cop from the nearest station to respond, all that," said Marius, rolling through his words like a shopping list, "and it takes ten days to plan two." 

Al drew his head back, a bird of prey about to strike, all of his lower teeth showing in a tight grimace. "Two fuckin' jobs?" 

Al's men woke up. The one with his boot on the chair stood properly and slid a hand around his middle until it disappeared into his jacket. 

"You charging me for this second job? I paid you half your fee for one job, just one – you rob the betting shop. That's what I told you when I employed you," said Al, advancing. 

Marius put up a hand and pointed a finger. "Two jobs, one take. The one we always planned. The second job is a distraction, and it's part of the first. The drugstore opposite the betting shop. That's the second job, okay? No extra charge." 

"Who the fuck robs a drugstore? What's there to steal? Fuckin' Mountain Dew and Peeps? Only an idiot tries that," said Al, his snarl still fixed onto his face. The cig was nearly bitten in half. 

"An idiot, yeah. An idiot who's unstable, who's armed, who takes hostages, who holes himself up in the back, who causes a lotta noise." Marius gave Al an encouraging smile, waiting for it to click. 

"And I guess this would be your man? Our little friend Matty? Looks idiot enough for the role," said Al, speaking through his teeth, the cig wobbling and close to falling with every word he hissed. 

"No, not Matty, Matty's working with me, I need him for the betting shop. I got somebody else for the drugstore job. Somebody we can shed if it goes wrong. It's all gonna happen at the same time, two halves, same game." said Marius, taking another step back as Al took one forward. 

"It's gonna go wrong, is it?" 

"What? No, no, I just said if. Jesus, we gotta have contingencies and adjust if there's a problem." 

"No." Al spat out his cig and stamped it out. His men drew closer. 

Marius stood up straighter and dropped his hands to his sides, mouth ajar and eyebrows meeting. "No? What is that? You can't say no. This is the plan. This is my plan." 

"Hell yeah I can say no. Get yourself a new plan, Mr. White, because I'm not signing off on it, get me?" Said Al, already burning through a fresh cigarette. He slapped a hand on Marius's shoulder and leaned down until Marius could see the tiny red vessels in his eyeballs. "There's too much risk. What if your drugstore psycho friend fucks up? What if he gives up too easily and forgets to do all this hostage shit? What if he straight up tells the cops what's going on across the street?" 

"Drugstores are open pretty much all night, all right? And the betting shop, that's gonna be dark. The place is fucking illegal, Al! It's fucking disguised as a fucking fireplace store! Who's gonna be looking? The betting shop isn't gonna kick up a fuss unless they all wanna go to prison, okay? I've done this before. It'll work. Hey, if-if we're lucky, our drugstore man might get away with whatever he takes. That's more cash in your pocket." Marius nodded, hoping Al would catch on. 

Al leaned back, hummed, wheezed a laugh, then beckoned a couple of his men across. "Hold him," he said, turning his back on Marius. 

"Al! This is bullshit, what else do you want me to say? This is the job," said Marius, speaking through an unbelieving laugh until two pairs of strong hands grappled him by the arms and held him up, the heels of his boots now hovering over the tiles. "C'mon, Al, what the fuck, man?" 

Al turned around and approached. Marius watched him, watched him run a hand through his hair, watched him breathe out another plume of smoke, watched him smile. "Okay, I'll let you execute your double robbery plan, your drugstore distraction thing, on one condition." 

Marius cleared his throat and strained against the grip Al's goons had on his upper arms. "What's that?" He asked, trying a smile. 

In a single, deft move, Al struck Marius across the bridge of his nose. Marius instantly slumped, gasping, a splatter of blood flying to the stark tiles. Al took Marius by the lapel and forced him up before he had the chance to fall or faint, the other hand attempting to get a good hold on his short hair. "That I show you a tiny percent of what you get if it goes fucking wrong." 

Marius lifted his eyes to stare at Al, eyebrows twitching, eyes creased and half shut as he fought back the spreading headache from nose to brain. 

Al smiled, gave Marius's shoulder a friendly pat, fixed his coat collar and waved his men to let go. "We're good, Mr. White. Aren't we?" Al kept that smile. It made his square face turn reptilian. 

The second he was freed Marius snapped a hand to his nose and held on, blood still streaking down his mouth and chin. "We're good," he said, wincing behind his palm. He went to leave but heard Al clicking his fingers like a pissed off father demanding the attention of a kid. He sighed and tilted his head to look at him. 

"Where you going, sport?" Al asked, crossing his arms. 

Marius lifted his free hand and limply waved at the back door he'd come through. "Fucking... out. Outside. Asshole." He disguised _'asshole'_ as a groan into the heel of his hand. 

"You wanna go out the back way when we got the red carpet right here?" Said Al, going to the door which led out into the store. He opened it and a warm, yellow and most unwelcoming glow entered the loading bay. 

Marius took his hand from his face and looked from the door to Al's smug shit-eating grin and then back to the sickly beam of light which was highlighting it beautifully. He headed into it, smearing blood from his chin onto the back of his hand in attempt to tidy up. A fresh couple of blobs rolled down his lip to replace what he'd wiped away. 

"Good meeting. Lots learned, lots discussed. I'll see you tonight, Mr. White. We need to plan some more now we've got a little more to do, hmm?" Said Al, giving the gap between Marius's shoulder blades a hearty shove to get him moving. 

Marius shot Al a glance over his shoulder. "Sure," he said, running his wrist under his nose. 

The foreign food place wasn't busy, but the people who were working their way around the aisles either stopped to look at him or pretended they hadn't caught a glimpse. Marius took the central aisle and stalked through it, not bothering to cover the blood running down the lower half of his face. The girl at the cash register opened her mouth and made a noise as he passed, about to say something, but decided against it when it was clear the strange customer with the nosebleed hadn't bought anything and hadn't come in through the front door. Marius guessed he wasn't the first celebrity to walk Al Goodland's blood red carpet. 

Once outside, Marius doubled over on the sidewalk, both hands nursing the bridge of his nose. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He let it ring off, too busy trying to make sure the bone wasn't broken. The phone whirred again after thirty seconds and this time he answered. "What?" He said, standing up and wincing through the dizziness. 

"Marius. All good?" Asked Eddie. 

"Yeah, _Matty,_ " Marius said, shaking his head. 

"You sound kinda stuffy." 

"It's the fuckin' New York air, what do you care?" Marius started to walk at a brisk pace, one hand still rubbing at the drying blood on his upper lip. 

"Okay, whatever, Jesus. So what's going on?" 

"I told 'em." 

"You told 'em?" 

"Yeah, I told 'em it's two jobs, not one." 

"Christ, Marius. How'd he take it?" 

Marius paused, eyes wide. "Pretty good." 

"You're insane, trying to do two robberies at the same time on the same street with the cops right there." 

"Well," said Marius, trying to breathe through all the clotting blood, "keep up, Eddie, 'cause it's not two. It's three."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based some of this off a dream I had and also I'm definitely not making this up as I go along...... I hope this chapter makes sense??


	3. We Don't Talk About the Pittsburgh Lawyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie brings up an old sore spot and Marius supports a local business.

The hotel room was more hostel than hotel, and more hostile than hostel. Its floor was tiled a boring red brick color which made it look like a public bathroom in a park, and made the actual bathroom seem like Hell's impression of one. Marius swore he could see something moving in the dark, furry gaps between those tiles, especially in the black corner underneath the old cast iron radiator. He'd already passed a dead cockroach lying on its back by the elevators. 

There was no desk, not even a half-dead dresser, so Marius had spread the city tourist brochure out on one of the beds and sat awkwardly beside it. He ran his hand across the wrinkles on the paper and leaned close, eyes skipping from the street where the drugstore and betting shop lurked to where Al's little base of operations squatted a few blocks north. 

A bang and the moan of the door trying to open signalled the return of his brother. Eddie shouldered his way into the room, a six pack under his arm and another hanging by a plastic ring from his fingers. 

Marius knew the sound of beer sloshing around in a can well. "The essentials, huh?" he said, eyes not leaving the map. A pencil flashed in his hand and he scribbled a couple of potential routes. 

"Hey, if we gotta stay here, I gotta have survival supplies." 

"Well, it was the best I could get on short notice." 

Eddie threw the six pack onto the bed and swiftly followed, slumping heavily. The mattress bounded up and down, which made the nib of the pencil stab right through the brochure. Marius dropped it and held out both hands at the disaster. "Wow. Thanks," he said, blinking. 

"They're free, get another one," said Eddie. 

"Only thing I'm getting is the impression you don't wanna help here." 

Eddie stared at Marius, then cracked open a beer. 

"Oh, what? What is it? You were all for this before. What's the problem?" Marius folded up the map and tossed it across the bed. 

"It's too fuckin' much, Marius," said Eddie, taking a swig to hide for a few seconds. 

"Too much? What the fuck, what's too much? The job?" 

"You can't be in two places at once, man. You can't do this. It's the fuckin' Pittsburgh lawyer all over again." 

Marius sat up and watched Eddie lower the can away from his chin. His pale eyes were wide, his eyebrows low. Marius cleared his throat and looked away, then after a breath he sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. "So, uh, I was thinking of getting AJ to be our drugstore terrorist, but I've decided we're gonna need him for-for Al's place." 

Eddie scoffed, took another swig of beer, his eyes rolling. "You just don't wanna risk losing him if the cops take over or something goes wrong in there." 

"Nothing's gonna go wrong in there. We are gonna own that store. It'll be completely under our control because there isn't going to be an attacker." 

"You just said you were gonna have AJ be the guy." 

"I was, but new plan." 

"Are you gonna tell me this time?" 

Marius saw Eddie's fingertips were white he was squeezing the beer can so hard. His brother's face hadn't changed from the grim look he'd been wearing the past few minutes. Temporarily defeated, Marius held up his hands to shoulder level and stood up. "I'm not doin' this with you. Do what you want, drink your beer, I don't give a shit," he said, nodding and leaning forward over Eddie before snatching his coat and going to the door. 

"Hey! What're you doing? Where you going? Marius!" said Eddie, rising to half-heartedly chase after him but only making it two steps. He stumbled to a stop when Marius rounded on him and jabbed a finger at him, his strides back into the room wide and quick. Eddie reversed until the backs of his knees bumped the side of the bed. 

"No, no, no, no. You get to stay here, like you want," Marius said through his teeth and a tight smile. He held the pose, kept the forefinger aimed between Eddie's eyes. 

The skin at the edge of Eddie's eyelid pinched. A tiny muscle pulled at the tip of his eyebrow. Marius lowered his hand and turned away from him.

…

The drugstore wasn't a CVS or a Duane Reade. It was a little place called Harrigan's Drugs and Supplies, a pure-hearted Mom and Pop local business still clinging on in a rough, downwardly mobile neighborhood. Some passions didn't give up, and Marius had to smile, because the smaller the target, the easier the con.

A bell jangled above his head when he entered. First, the walls and ceilings. Three cameras. One at the end of the store in the far left corner, another above the door he'd just walked through, and the third behind the guy at the register. Second, the Employee of the Month board by the door to the back. Marius stopped in the right hand aisle and read it askance. Twelve months from the previous year, twelve little photos. Five different faces grinned for the Polaroid (one had been employee of the month for six of those months, the little brown noser). Five employees not including management and the occasional hired cleaning staff. There were never more than four people working in the store at any one time. 

Marius walked the length and breadth of the store, counting his steps, spacing his gait. He looked up when he reached the store front and saw the clerk watching him, taking the bait. Marius reeled him in, strolling to the counter and leaning in close. "May I ask you a question?" He said, reaching over to pick up a stick of gum and sliding it forward. He narrowed his eyes at the cashier's badge. "Jonny," he added. 

Jonny tilted his head back. "Sure," he said, reaching for the gum to scan. 

"When was the last time you, as a company, as a building, had a security breach?" 

"A breach? What?" 

"Yeah, uh, a breach, a break-in, a robbery, an attack at gunpoint. Have you ever been held up by a maniac with a knife? Very important question, Jonny, think about your answer." 

"I think when Mr Harrigan used to work here in the seventies someone tried to make him open the register. Uh, I'm sorry, why are you asking this?" The register blipped.

Marius raised his eyebrows and then fished for his wallet. "Oh, I'm sorry, my name's Mike Varley, I'm a Counterterrorism Security Analyst and Advisor. We're working with a company a few blocks down, doing some risk assessments, some security plans, currently running through staff policies and procedures. Y'know, making sure the potential terrorists have no inside men on the workforce, that kinda thing. But I'm sure you've gone through all this with my colleagues not long back yourself, as is required by law every five years thanks to our fine city's little turn of the Millennium event." 

"Shit, you're a fed?" 

Marius put on a sheepish look and shrugged. "Well, I'm not gonna say it _doesn't_ read Homeland Security on the wage slip, know what I'm saying?" 

Jonny's mouth turned down and he bobbed his head. Impressed. "Sweet. But, ah, no, no I haven't done... any of that. That's the law?" Jonny was biting down on the bait with the strength of a pit bull. Marius smiled. 

"I'd have thought, uh, Mr Harrigan, was it? I'd have thought he would've gone through this with his staff. Has he not even had a training day with demonstration?" Marius slid a note to Jonny for the gum.

"A what? No, Mr Harrigan isn't really involved in the day to day workings anymore. He's the manager but he barely comes in." 

"Do you feel safe here, Jonny?" Marius lowered his voice, offered the poor young man a supportive open palm and sympathetic expression. 

Jonny bunched his mouth to the side and breathed out. He sprinkled the change into Marius's hand.

Marius stood up straight and gave the front window a glance, pocketing the pennies. "Where we're working now, the employees are terrified. They feel let down by their supervisors because they don't think they've been trained how to handle dangerous situations in the workplace properly. Every system has to be infallible in order to keep everything inside this building safe, and that includes the people, includes you. I've heard some horror stories about this area which I know I don't need to repeat, I'm sure. Mr Harrigan needs to understand his business must comply with legislation." 

Jonny's eyes shone. "Trini, the girl who does evening shifts, she said once some teenagers came in here with kitchen knives and started yelling and causing trouble. She almost called the cops." 

Marius stabbed the counter with his finger. "See, that right there? That's a breach. That's a scenario which can become escalated very easily. She could've been injured, and who's to blame? The kids? Her? Or the boss who neglected to train his staff because he doesn't want to be involved anymore?" 

"She had to take the next day off unpaid because she'd been so scared, man. Felt bad for her. What was that thing you said? Training demonstration?" 

Marius stood back, mentally cracking his knuckles. "The training exercise? Oh, it's just a bit of practical to show how an attack might occur and how it can be prevented with simple measures by those working in the store, your good selves. What we do is we, uh, we collectively as a small team stage a fake terrorist occurrence and we sorta walk everyone through what to do. We get the authority to close the store, you guys get an hour or so off the floor and frankly? It's kinda fun. And guess who's playing the crook this time around?" Marius pointed to himself with a flourish and a laugh. "I tell you, I miss wearing a tie, even for an hour." 

"Oh, oh, yeah, I was wondering where the suit was," said Jonny with a smirk. 

"You think I'd wear this fashion statement out of my own free will?" said Marius, grinning then patting down his coat. "God, you know what? I left my card and everything else in my suit pocket. We're only working with Walgreens right now, but hey, here's my number," he said, ripping off a page of his jotter and scribbling, "do you think, when we're done with them, you might have some time for us? We're a little concerned about this neighborhood to be perfectly honest. Lotta no good things brewing. Can't tell you about that but there's some activity." 

Jonny took the number and read it. "Look, uh, it'd be cool, but I can't do anything myself. It all needs to be okay'd by Mr Harrigan officially. He likes to sign off on things in ink." 

Marius tilted his head back and wiggled his fingers at his sides. "Okay," he said with a nod, "that's doable. Do you have a contact for Mr Harrigan? I can get someone at HQ to find out for me if he's interested." 

Jonny shifted where he stood. He looked over Marius's shoulder to a customer making a beeline for the counter. "I don't have a number for him. He's not really into technology, kinda old fashioned. I think he reached fax machines and stopped there. There might be a phone number but I'd need to ask before I give it out, Jeff's a private dude. He lives a little way outta town, that's all I know." 

"All right, well, we'll look into it. You might hear from us, okay? Thanks for your time. I'm sorry you feel your boss isn't interested in your wellbeing, but we are." Marius gave one last friendly smile and headed to the door. Before he left, he turned about and walked backward, a hand up and pointing beyond Jonny. "And hey! Congratulations on getting employee of the month six times last year!" 

Jonny gave him a thumbs up and Marius kept the smile until he was outside. He dropped it the second his boot hit the sidewalk and took out his phone. He typed into Google search: _Jeff Harrigan New York._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support you guys!! I'm trying to make this awful thing read a bit like an episode or something? Hope it's still making sense and working! Love ya!


	4. Day at the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Marjorie are left in the dark as Marius takes a side quest trip somewhere weird.

"So, you're gonna knock on this geezer's door and tell him what? You're his long-lost grandson or some shit like that?" Eddie said, his laugh echoing into the can of his third beer. 

Marius rubbed an eyebrow and bent forward as he paced. One of the discarded cans skittered away from the toe of his boot when he knocked it. "Inspired, Eddie. Really. You're a genius," he said. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Why're you wasting time with this old man and this store when we got bigger problems? Al's breathing down our necks, Marius-" 

"Eddie? I know. Think I don't?" Marius said, raising a hand to stop his brother's noise. "What, you still mad at me? This is a part of the plan, all right?" 

"No, it isn't." 

Marius stopped and widened his eyes at Eddie, inviting an elaboration with a thin smile. 

Eddie balanced his forearm on his hopping knee. The beer in the can he was gripping leapt out and splashed his jeans. "This isn't part of the plan. You made it up when you talked to Al. We had a plan and then you added this bullshit onto it. You haven't even told me half of it. It's just like last time. You always do this. Feel like I'm the fuckin'… Jim Carrey to your fuckin'… I dunno, Robert de Niro." 

Marius leaned back on his heels and looked at the ceiling. There was a speckling of mold directly above him. He breathed in (inhaling more spores than oxygen) then pointed at Eddie, who was sneering, hunched on the corner of the bed. "You know what Jim Carrey did when he was young and broke? When he was trying to make it in the world as an entertainer and failing miserably? He wrote himself a check. He wrote himself a check for ten million dollars for acting services rendered. Ten million. He dated it ten years into the future and he put it in his wallet. Kept it there for years as he tried to get into Hollywood. A little reminder to say that's gonna be you. You're gonna get there. Ten years later he got that ten million. And here we are." 

Eddie raised his shoulders slow and shook his head. "What's your point?" 

"Point is, if you're gonna be the Jim Carrey, you gotta believe." 

"Believe? In you?" 

"Yeah, in me! Who do you think I am? Robert de Niro?" 

Eddie snorted and finished his beer. 

"Besides, it takes a genius to play a fool," Marius added, taking his phone and scrolling through the results on Harrigan again. 

"Carrey said that?" 

"Uh, no, I read that on the internet." Marius smiled and returned to pacing, eyes narrowed at the phone's screen. "Listen, all I need is the old guy's signature. That's it." 

"That's it? Jesus, Marius, you don't just go to someone's private house and ask 'em for their autograph and then leave - 'cos that's all you have time for, by the way." 

"No, I think you can. I think I can. And who says he's gotta write it?" 

"I don't... what?" 

"Once I get a look at it, I'll forge it. It'll be good enough to fool the children running the drugstore for one night. I'll copy it onto some bullshit letter giving permission for us to take over the store temporarily." 

"That's your plan? Take over the store? You gonna play at manager? Get Karolina stacking shelves?" Eddie went to stand up. Marius winced at the conclusion his brother had jumped to and waved his hand for him to sit back. 

"Christ, will you let me finish? We take over the store and, uh, with the staff's full cooperation, stage what looks like a robbery for Al and all his buddies to fall for. Nobody inside gets hurt so the cops, the actual real cops, don't get called. It's controlled, it's safe." 

"So if we're not ripping off the drugstore, what's the point of even doing it? Why not just skip it and do the original job at the betting shop?" 

Marius ran a finger down the groove of his nose (it still ached after Al had tried to punch it a couple of inches to the right) and closed his eyes. "Distraction. Plain and simple. Al said it himself he's down on numbers. We get half of his men to 'watch' the drugstore robbery. That way there's less of them to deal with at both the betting shop and Al's headquarters. We need Al's place down to skeleton staff if any of this is gonna work." 

"And the old guy...?" 

"The manager of the drugstore is apparently old-fashioned, secretive, likes things in writing. We can't do a fake robbery without his signing off on it. I'll need his signature and possibly a letterhead if he's got one, make it look official. Marjorie can create something, write it all boring and flowery so they don't read too hard into it." Marius talked as he walked, head bowed, thumbing through links and sites as they piqued his interest. He stopped. Jeff Harrigan, technophobe or not, like it or not, was on the web. 

"Okay, fine, sounds insane but doable. How do you get into the secretive dude's house and find the signature? You gonna ask him to write it right there on the doorstep?" Eddie asked, cracking into a new beer. 

"How many times have you seen Jurassic Park?" Marius asked, looking up at the wall and frowning. 

"What?" 

"Jurassic Park. How many times have you seen it? How many times did we watch it on VHS back then?" 

Eddie curled a nostril and scoffed a laugh. "Maybe ten? Twelve?" 

"Remember the part that scared you the most?" 

"Yeah, it was, uh... the goat. The fuckin'… goat's leg hitting the car. Don't laugh, man, that shit made me jump. What has it got to do with anything?" 

Marius turned and threw his phone to Eddie, who fumbled with catching it one-handed. He waited for the screen to rotate landscape and read the online article. It was two years old. The photo showed a tall, older man with neat white hair standing with a group of equally smart-looking people, all prim and proper and pinched. On a table before them lay a six-foot long, brown leg bone. Each person was touching it proudly, the bone so huge it made their hands look like little white spiders. 

"He does this instead of running a store? Restoration?" Eddie said. 

"More like a volunteer, but he's also a philanthropist when it comes to dead things," Marius said, taking back his phone, "which means our dinosaur here is good at writing checks." 

"A regular fuckin' Jim Carrey." 

"Uh huh. That's my in. Right there in that photo." Eddie squinted at the picture as Marius selected Marjorie's name from contacts and went to the door, waiting for her to pick up by chanting her name over and over. Before the door was halfway open, Eddie had crossed the room and grabbed his arm. Marius looked at him, phone still pressed to his ear. 

"Hey, you're doing it again." 

Marius smiled, darting his eyes and jerking his head aside to show he was waiting on Marjorie's voice. "Doing... doing what?" 

"All of it. Everything. Making me sit back and wait while you just take over and do whatever you want. You haven't even explained why your face got all busted up from earlier." 

Marius stared with hard eyes, unblinking. Marjorie answered the call. "Marjorie," he said, still staring at Eddie, who now had a deep, dark line between his brows, "you got a minute?" He yanked his arm out of Eddie's grasp and headed out into the corridor. The door shut swift and loud behind his back. 

"Marius. What do you need now?" Marjorie said. 

"Why do you always assume I need something?" Marius replied, already at the top of the stairwell down to the lobby. 

"Because you always need something." 

"I do, but what if I just wanna chat?" 

"What do you need?" Marjorie said again, this time through her teeth. 

Marius breathed a laugh and went down the stairs two at a time, swinging by one hand around the banister on each landing in the hope it would increase his momentum. "Okay, okay. Uh, folders, plastic wallets, papers, a big box file, ring binders--" 

"There's a Staples on Broadway." 

"No time. Do you have a laminator somewhere? Buried under those airport novels you can't ever sell? And wrap. Bubble or otherwise." 

"Probably. What--" 

"I'll tell you later, just get those things for me. Please. And I promise next time I'll call for just a chat." 

"Marius, you and I both know you can't chat." 

Marius hurried through the lobby and shouldered open the main doors. Out on the sidewalk he scanned for a taxi and turned on the spot. "What can I say, all work and no play make Jack an efficient person who gets the job done because his friends always pull through for him," he said. 

"Sure. See you soon." Marjorie rang off. He just about heard her sigh-laugh hybrid before she killed the call.

…

The American Museum of Natural History hadn't exactly been high on the list of places he and Eddie liked to sneak into when they'd been young, and by the time the Ben Stiller movie was released in theaters they'd been too old to have their interest in the past ignited. A visit tailing a school field trip at a reasonable distance one Summer in the nineties had been enough. Marius found it far easier to make history up as he went along.

Marjorie had loaned him one of Charlie's older suits from his slimmer days. It was a tad too long in places but easy to hide under the coat. Piled up in his arms were the folders and ring binders he'd requested and between his teeth was a fake I.D hastily printed and laminated back at the bookstore, the loop of its lanyard draped over his shoulder. All he could do was hope nobody would want to check it, that the hideous possibility of touching someone else's spit would keep staff from investigating. 

It had been quicker to pay the entrance admission as a visitor looking to study the displays than it would have been trying to explain to security that he was a scientist and risk accidentally setting off alarm bells. After getting rid of guards by showing he had no bags with him, Marius went straight past the first hall exhibits, ignored the front desk and trotted through the pale pillars, all the while making sure to dodge visitors, making sure he looked extremely busy. To complete the cliché, a few printed screenshots of essays from JSTOR (all relevant to his academic speciality, of course) had been rigged to slip from the folders. Marius was certain people would try to return them to him once they'd stopped fluttering across the floor, but Dr Don Atkins didn't stop for anyone. 

The first part was easy. Marius slowed his pace near a staff only door and pretended to adjust the bulk of files weighing down his arms, scanning for employees. He let the first couple go: a smart young man, long-faced, long-limbed, and an older woman, heeled, hawkish, both the type to stop and challenge him. 

There she was. A young woman with a nervous pitter-patter to her steps, a constant adjusting of her blazer, eyebrows all turned up the wrong way with an alert worry he could relate to. New girl. 

He waited until she'd swiped the door with her card and had half-opened it. Biting down on the laminated card still wobbling between his teeth and breathing hard through his mouth, Marius swept in. "Eckshcuse ee," he said through the card, letting a couple of files slide across his arm. They clattered to the floor. 

The young woman immediately crouched to grab them, her smile tired but accommodating. She kept one foot stuck out to hold the door open. 

"Shorry," he added, fixing the balance of his papers and taking the card out of his mouth. He had to time that last move carefully – if she didn't see the shining string of drool come away with it, she might have wanted a closer look. The slight raise of her eyelids and the turning down of her face again confirmed she was going nowhere near. 

"It's okay, don't worry. Busy day," she said, sliding the papers toward her. She flipped one page over and stared at the drawing on it. 

"Trilobites," Marius said. "Sorry, I'm Don Atkins, uh, I'm working with Dr Rita Budzynski in Paleoecology currently, looking into the ah, the internal organs and systems of trilobites and their relatives. Trying to get an idea of how they digested things, whether they even had stomachs, that kinda thing. Is Rita around? Do you know which office she's working from? Or lab? I have a meeting with her ten minutes ago." 

The young woman stood, let her hand take over for her heel in holding open the staff door, then put the papers on top of the files still slipping from his grasp. Marius tilted it all upward so it covered some of his face, forcing her onto her tiptoes to see him. "I don't recognize her name," she said. 

Marius laughed and shrugged. "She's from CU Boulder, doesn't often come over here to the dark side. I'm based in Maine and have a lot going on so she bit the bullet, agreed to do the bulk of the traveling. She was delayed a tad waiting on a delivery of a real special specimen from Emu Bay in Australia. This one guy has what we think is evidence of fossilized soft tissue and almost completely intact antennae, can you believe? We always jump on opportunities like these, it's real exciting, and what we hope to achieve is get a more accurate impression of how they fed and got all their nutrients and all that. They might have even had a vastly different system to anything we know living today. But I'm digressing, are you a grad student here?" 

"Oh, no, no, I'm not, I'm just admin," she said, leaning against the door with arms folded. It was clear she didn't much care for long dead bugs. Neither did he. She was, however, amused by his feigned eccentricity. Now he needed her to fall for it. 

"Just admin? This whole place would be in a museum itself as an extinct species if we didn't have you guys to keep it going," he said. People were predictable. One generic compliment and they smiled. There was the fall. A dimple cast a tiny shadow on her cheek when she smirked and under her long side-swept bangs there was a bloom of red when she tilted her head aside. 

"Hey, if I could just get some directions to the department I can catch her up. You sure you haven't seen her? Five ten, short-ish red hair, probably carrying a big wooden box? Kinda like a... a tall Dana Scully from X-Files?" 

"No, I haven't, I'm sorry. I can't really remember where Paleoecology is, but Paleontology is in 3A, the top floors. Head down here, it's signposted. Mostly," she said. 

Marius grinned and raised his brows at her. "What's your name?" 

"It's Sophia," she said. 

"Sophia. All right. Thanks, Sophia, I appreciate it. Here's hoping I find Rita in the maze, huh?" 

"Here's hoping." 

Marius squeezed past her, considered swiping the card she had clipped to her belt. Too obvious. Too late. Sophia would be reprimanded whether he added fuel to the fire or not. He let her go, gave her a few hours of freedom before she felt the heat of those flames he'd lit.

…

The I.D-in-mouth trick worked. The catching-people-as-they-opened-secure-doors trick worked. The trusting nature of people helped take Marius through hallways lined with lockers, dark corridors with ceilings weighed down by old pipes, up stairwells with old walls peppered with old posters and faded safety flyers. The further into the labyrinth he ventured, the less likely the doors were released by electronics. One final door to Paleontology needed a card to zap it, but after that he was free to roam.

Marius rattled the handle of every door on both sides of the corridor. All were locked. Behind the windows of some he could see offices, dark and cluttered. He made his way down the hall, checking each door until it looked like lock-picking was the only option. The door he chose had no window. He pressed an ear to the wood and listened. Silence. No scrape of a chair or tap of feet. Quietness didn't mean there was nobody inside, but any other door would pose the same risk, so this one was as good as any. 

Picking locks wasn't a skill he was incredible at, and one he didn't often need to utilize, preferring to chat his way in over force. _Tempus Fuckit._ He'd left the entire kit behind bar a few of the picks to save space. It took a painful minute to unlock - a minute fraught with fumbling fingers and darting eyes. The lock clunked and Marius twisted the handle down. 

He waited, door ajar, for someone to call out, ask who was there. Nothing. 

The office was a partial lab, one side dedicated to a desk, bowed shelving struggling under books and limp, scratchy plants, the other to a wide table stacked with equipment and specimens. The room was long, twenty feet or more, and at the other end of it was another door leading out into the same corridor. Marius headed there first, picked its lock. Escape route. He then hurried back to the first door and relocked it from the inside. 

He breathed and found a space to drop off the fake papers. The biggest of the box files he wrenched out of the pile and balanced on top. Stuffed inside was a large bundle of bubble wrap. He took it and went to the long table. All he found there were a couple of boxes of small fossils, ammonites and other dull things. He needed something better, something larger. Jeff Harrigan's stern, pointed face looked like the type only impressed by rarity. 

Marius went to the lockers and the drawers. Some were locked. The ones which weren't he tugged open and rifled through. Office supplies, papers, more tiny rocks. 

Footsteps sounded outside. His heart bucked in his ribcage and Marius froze. The open drawer in front of him he silently, slowly, pushed back in. The noise grew louder. The steps were joined by another set; someone running to catch the first person up. Marius turned and fixed his eyes on the door. A chance glance to the desk he'd first seen upon entering made his heart lurch again for an entirely different reason. 

Sitting hidden from sight in front of the PC was a fossilized bone as long as a forearm. 

Beyond the door the person had stopped. Marius heard voices. The clink of keys. He moved. The fossil was heavy, and for a second he wondered if he ought to replace it with something, like Indiana Jones dropping the bag of sand in place of the golden idol, but there was no time to do anything but shove it into the bubble wrap and roll it up. 

Something rattled in the door's lock. He stopped, exhaled, half-stooped over the desk, a quiver shaking the hand holding the fossil. Then the jingle and crack of keys falling onto tiles. A laugh from outside. He moved again, but this time paused. 

Grabbing a pen from the desk and tearing off a post-it from the block by the phone, Marius scribbled a fast, messy note. When he was done he slapped the memo into the fossil's box and raced to the second door. 

Timing, once again, was everything. If he exited now, the people in the hall would see him leaving the office. If he left too late, they'd see him standing stunned like the intruding asshole he was. There were shelves and filing cabinets shielding the long wall which would obscure his presence and any moves he made for all of two crucial seconds if he needed them. With the papers and folders once again in his arms, heavier now with the giant rock nestled in the box file, Marius got ready to disappear. 

The first door swung open. The two men's voices increased in volume and one of them guffawed again. Marius opened the other, slid through halfway and started pulling it closed behind him. The corridor was empty when he peered around the door, so he slipped out and watched the shadows of the people now in the office sway on the floor. The first door started to close. Marius bit his tongue and focused, shutting his door as they did theirs. Both doors clicked at the same time. 

Marius grasped his neck and straightened up. The skin was hot and clammy, the pulse a rapid bump trying to bust through his skin. 

The same technique he used to get through 3A he used one more time to get back to the main entrance. It still worked. People were still moronically trusting. 

Before the final door someone ran into him. 

The box file hit the ground as well as half the papers and files. Marius reeled back from the impact and gaped. 

"Sorry! Oh, shit, sorry, man!" The person he'd collided with was the same age as him. The guy had floppy blond hair, a long nose, thin lips, a nervous grimace, and, like Sophia had done, he went to politely retrieve everything. 

Marius reached for the box file too late. The other man was already holding it aloft. "Wow, Jesus, what kinda research weighs this much?" He said, waving the box up and down to test the heaviness. 

Marius's outstretched hand juddered and drew itself into a fist. His other hand went to his back pocket. He took out his phone. "Trilobites," he said, shrugging, laughing, sweeping up the other papers. 

Setting up a fake call was tedious, even with the right app. He kept the phone close to his thigh and flicked through the screen. With a single, swift look when the bastard who'd knocked him was distracted, Marius set the timer for twenty seconds and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

"Trilobites? All this for trilobites?" 

"Uh, yeah. I'm doing some work on their digestive tracts..." 

"Then you're in the wrong department, bud," said the bastard. He narrowed his eyes and stood up, still clutching the box file. "I don't remember seeing you around." 

Marius rose to his feet and held his free hand out to his side. "Big place. I'm only here today for a meeting." 

"Who with?" The bastard's eyes were almost closed in his suspicion. 

The phone rang. Marius held up a finger for the bastard to hold the thought and answered it. "Rita!" he shouted at the silence, "wait, wait, what d'you mean you're not in the building? Where are you? Where? Where the hell is that? Christ, what are you doing down there? I told you I was heading up and I'd meet you on the top floor here! Yeah, I did! Listen. Listen! Shut up! I'll-I'll come to you." Marius rolled his eyes at the bastard and reached over to scoop the box file out of his hands. 

The bastard blinked and automatically pushed the other papers on top of it with the tip of a finger, as if the angry little guy on the phone was emitting nuclear radiation through his yells. 

"Yeah, now! Stay where you are!" Marius went on. He took the phone from his ear and put it to his shoulder to prevent poor Rita from hearing him. "Thanks, man, no problem about that crash we had there, I'm sorry for rushing around. You see the kinda shit I have to deal with today!" He grinned and waved the phone at him. The bastard drew his head back, frowned, but let Marius pass. 

Marius kept berating Rita until he'd left 3A. It helped him through the last door, as nobody wanted to stop the man screaming down the phone and carrying heavy folders from leaving their peaceful department forever.

...

"It's a bone," said Marjorie, turning the fossil around in her hands before putting it down onto some old hardbacks.

"It's the humerus of _Irritator challengeri_ ," Marius replied, tapping the rock. He was slumped opposite her desk and leaning on her books, his chin resting on his crossed arms. 

"Oh, really? Very clever of you, knowing that." Marjorie bunched her mouth to one side and looked at it before giving Marius a knowing stare. "It had a label, didn't it?" 

Marius smirked. "It had a label." 

"Huh. Sounds like the kind of Latin name I'd label _you_ with, Marius. What are you doing with it?" 

"It's my ticket to an audience with someone." 

"And where'd you get it?" 

Marius said nothing. Instead he raised his eyes and looked at the shelf beyond her. After an unbearable quiet, he picked up the fossil and stood up. Marjorie took hold of it as he tried to get away and drew it into the light of the lamp, Marius's hand still trying to wrench it back. She read the numbers painted onto it. "You got this from a museum. _The_ museum." 

"I'll get rid of those numbers before the person I need to talk to sees them," said Marius. 

Marjorie let go of the fossil and turned in her seat to face him. Marius took a step back into the dim corner of the bookshelves. "That's not the point," she said, leaning forward and glaring from under her eyebrows. It made her eyes turn into black circles in the dark. "These people take things seriously. They take theft very seriously. Is having this stupid thing worth them tracking it down? Tracking you down? What's it for, can you tell me that?" 

Marius sighed and flipped the rock upside down, running a thumb over the little numbers. "It's gonna get me what I need so I can get something else. They'll get it back, and it won't be me they'll be getting it back from." 

"And what does that mean?" Marjorie lifted a hand and slapped it back down onto her leg, then leaned back, eyes wide. 

"It means I left a note." 

"You left a note? And that's it, is it? Problem sorted?" Marjorie's voice was rising to a sarcastic shrillness. 

Marius put the bone down in front of her with a thud. "That's it, problem sorted. You need to trust me. This is nothing. It's just one cog in the machine. One bone in the fuckin' dinosaur, okay? I left a note." He lowered the finger he was pointing at her and relaxed his jaw, only now aware of the ache in his back teeth, that he'd been speaking through them. 

Marjorie huffed and shook her head, defeated, smiling it off to get rid of the tightening air around them. "Fine," she said, "sounds like you have everything under control." 

Marius met her firm gaze and then glanced away to the shelves. "Got any Michael Chrichtons?"

…

Dr Walt Meller shut the door to his office with his foot once Martin had finished laughing on its threshold. For a moment he stopped and gave a quick look to the other door at the end of the room. He'd not noticed the place having an echo before.

"You remember it, right?" Martin asked, wiping an eye and still coughing a laugh. 

"Huh?" 

Martin clicked his tongue and leaned on Walt's desk. "Wow, wake up. The faulty sink and the water and that guy Mike!" 

"Oh, yeah, that was... yeah." Walt frowned and went to the center of the room, turned around on the spot. 

"Forget a lab report or something?" Martin grinned and scratched a nail between a gap between his teeth. 

"No, no, I haven't even done that yet, it’s still on my desk. I dunno, think it's nothing, just, got this weird kinda being watched feeling," said Walt, going to his desk and patting the Irritator fossil's box. He glanced down. 

Martin kicked the heel of his Oxford into the desk. "You think Mike ever used that bathroom again? I don't think I could if I were him..." 

"Marty, you know who JH is?" 

Martin turned to face Walt who was brandishing a post-it under his nose. Martin peeled the sticky edge from Walt's finger and read it. 

_Item requested by J.H. Will return ASAP after investigation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than I'd hoped delay on this chapter! To make up for it, this chapter is p much 5k words! Hoping it's kinda clear enough but MYSTERIOUS enough!


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